


Rising Sun Blues

by randomling



Category: Popslash
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-24
Updated: 2008-05-24
Packaged: 2017-10-11 05:33:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/108950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomling/pseuds/randomling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lance takes care of Justin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rising Sun Blues

Some days, Japan seems less like a foreign country and more like an alien planet. Today especially. Lance is glad to be back in the hotel, which has the following advantages: a bed, room service and significantly fewer screaming fans. In fact, he's not accosted at all on the short journey from his room to Justin's, which probably doesn't have anything to do with his lame disguise of shades and a baseball cap.

Justin doesn't answer when Lance knocks on the door, or when he knocks again, louder, and Lance tentatively tries the door. It's unlocked. He half-expects to find Justin asleep, but no; he sits up as Lance steps into the room and gives him a throaty, "Hey."

"Hey," says Lance. "You look like crap."

"Thanks," Justin says, just about managing the required bite-size chunk of sarcasm. Though he's probably been lying on the bed since they got back from the TV studio three hours ago, he's still wearing the same grey sweatshirt and blue jeans he had on when they left there, and even his shoes. Lance sighs and sets the take-out bag on the dresser with his shades and cap. Justin eyes the bag and says, "Man, I'm so fucking hungry."

"Are you still throwing up?"

"Not for a couple hours now." Lance wonders if that isn't because he's been sleeping, but he's not sure it matters so much, either. Justin really needs to try to eat.

"What'd you bring?" Justin asks.

"It's just rice," Lance says. Justin makes a face. "It's filling and bland, and maybe you'll be able to keep it down."

He feels just a little like a nursemaid as he carries the bag over to the bed and sits down next to Justin. Justin opens the bag and pulls out the plastic box of rice and - Lance feels this was a minor victory - a fork. He's already got a generous forkful of rice in his mouth when he looks up suspiciously at Lance. "Are you gonna watch me eat, dude?"

"Just take it slow, okay?"

Justin does, but Lance watches him furtively, just to be sure. He needs to chew thoroughly before he swallows. Justin's managed half a dozen mouthfuls, and Lance is silently wondering just when he became Justin's mommy, when Justin whispers, "Shit," and bolts for the bathroom. Lance picks the spilled rice from the carpet and sighs as he listens to the all-too-familiar sound of Justin vomiting. After a minute or so, there's silence.

Lance leaves the box and the fork on the bed and goes to the bathroom door. The light's off, so Lance switches it on. Justin, still crouched over the toilet bowl, doesn't turn around.

"Ugh," Justin says.

"You done?"

"Think so." Justin gets up, flushes, and turns to the basin so quickly that Lance catches only a glimpse of his eyes, looking dark and sunken in pale skin. He runs water, splashes his face, rinses his mouth, and then grabs his toothbrush. "No food for me, huh?"

"They're calling a doctor," Lance says.

He has to wait for a response until Justin's done brushing his teeth. Justin takes his time about it, rinsing twice and spitting hard, like it's the only way he can show Lance how pissed he is. When he finally does speak, he says, "I'll be fine, you know." There's a sharp edge of defiance in his voice, and Lance has to hold back from sighing, because he's _not_ Justin's mother, after all.

"It can't hurt to get it checked out," Lance says, and instead of sounding like Justin's mother, he sounds like his own. He's carefully keeping clear of the scary words, the words that the other guys are staying away from now, and stayed away from back when it might have been Lance's heart: _you could be really sick._ He doesn't want to think about that.

Two days of throwing up. It could still be food poisoning. Just. Maybe.

Justin gives Lance a look and walks past him, back into the bedroom, his arm bumping Lance's chest as he goes by. Lance stays in the doorway and watches as Justin strips off his sweatshirt and the T-shirt underneath in one movement, then goes for the fly of his jeans. Lance finds himself bewildered, because no matter how many times they change clothes together in cramped dressing-rooms, there's always a little thrill associated with seeing Justin undress: but not this time. He doesn't have it in him to connect his crush with this Justin, limp and exhausted, his quick wit and sparkling energy purged away. All he feels is a weird, achy compassion; he wishes he could take the whole damn thing away.

Justin strips down to his underwear, kicks off his sneakers, and steps on his socks to get them off his feet. He puts the box of rice, the fork, and the empty bag on the dresser with Lance's disguise, then walks back to the bed and collapses on top of the covers with a sigh. Lance doesn't move the whole time. It's a long time since he's felt awkward in Justin's presence - years - but Justin's listlessness makes him feel helpless and odd. When Justin lies still, Lance goes to the dresser and fishes out a clean T-shirt.

Justin always unpacks so thoroughly. Lance is still fetching clean clothes from his suitcase each morning.

Shirt in hand, he sits on the bed. "Here. Put this on."

Justin rolls over and looks at him, but doesn't sit up. "I'm fine," he mumbles.

"C'mon, Justin."

With effort, Justin sits up, and Lance helps him to put the T-shirt on, dropping it over Justin's head and unrolling it over Justin's stomach when Justin has put his arms through the sleeves. Lance is still preoccupied with the weirdness of the situation - this is the first time he's dressed a bandmate - when Justin's arms go around Lance's waist, his neck bent so he can rest his forehead against Lance's. Lance automatically hugs back.

"It'll be okay," Lance says. "The doctor's gonna be here in the morning."

He lies down on the bed, bringing Justin with him, and strokes Justin's back gently with one hand, resting the other hand against Justin's chest so it doesn't get crushed by the weight of Justin's body. Justin lets out a long sigh, closing his eyes.

"I want my mom," Justin says in a tiny voice.

Normally, Lance would tease Justin like crazy if he said a thing like that; this time, he just keeps stroking Justin's back, and murmurs, "I know." There's a long silence, during which Justin's hand works its way into the small of Lance's back. Lance doesn't want to admit it, even to himself, but the crush is back, just a little twist of pleasure at being this close to Justin, and he closes his eyes, too. "I'm here," he says.

"Yeah," Justin breathes. "Thanks."

Justin still has one hand on Lance's back, fingers resting lightly on the curve of Lance's spine. He moves his other hand to his own chest, where Lance's fingers are curled in on themselves, and wraps his hand carefully around Lance's. Lance opens his eyes to look at their joined hands, and then finds himself looking at Justin's face. Their eyes meet, and Justin's whole face is a question mark.

Justin twines his fingers with Lance's and shuffles closer, his eyes never leaving Lance's face. "Don't go," Justin says, and he's holding Lance right against him, and Lance is glad that Justin brushed his teeth because Justin's mint-flavoured breath is on his face.

"Don't worry." Lance shifts his grip so he can squeeze Justin's hand, and Justin smiles. "I won't."


End file.
